Two Hearts Melding into One
by SilverReplay
Summary: On the ballroom floor, words are unnecessary. Your body speaks for itself, the way it turns, the way it curves, the way it listens to my commands, to my lead. […] It's like we share a heartbeat, our hearts melding into one. Dancing with you is something I will never tire of, not now, not forever. [] Prompt Fill for QZGS Rarepair Week 2018: Day 2: champion/ childhood / (heartbeat)


**《** _ **Two Hearts Melding into One**_ **》**

 **Chapters** : 1/1

 **Fandom** : 全职高手 | The King's Avatar (Cartoon), 全职高手 - 蝴蝶蓝 | Quánzhí Gāoshǒu - Húdié Lán

 **Rating** : Teen And Up Audiences

 **Relationships** : Sū Mùqiū & Zhōu Zékǎi, Sū Mùqiū/Zhōu Zékǎi

 **Characters** : Sū Mùqiū, Zhōu Zékǎi

 **Additional Tags** : Ballroom Dancing, Dancing, Alternate Universe - Dance, Waltzing, Fluff, no beta we die like men, One Shot, rarepair, Creative License, Artistic License

 **Series** : Part 2 of 2018 QZGS Rarepair Collection

 **Summary** :

 **On the ballroom floor, words are unnecessary. Your body speaks for itself, the way it turns, the way it curves, the way it listens to my commands, to my lead.**

…

 _It's like we share a heartbeat, our hearts melding into one. Dancing with you is something I will never tire of, not now, not forever._

 **Notes:**

For **Amaranyxia** on **AO3**

Prompt Fill for QZGS Rarepair Week 2018:

 _Day 2: champion | childhood |_ _ **heartbeat**_

(pretty much all three found their way into the fic at one point)

For you, Ama~! Hope you like it. I saw your ballroom dance au between YX and TR and just had to force my muse to allow me to write a ballroom dance au as well.

 **Additional Notes:** Creative license with ballroom dance competitions, since I never competed in one and only have a little knowledge on it. Plus, like, some moves are definitely not allowed because it's too dangerous, but it fit the story and flow so oh well.

I also haven't danced the waltz in months (^^;;) but yea, pretty accurate I hope depictions of a waltz dance from the perspective of a follow. I based it according to what I'm thinking while following someone.

If you wish to listen to a song while reading, I would recommend **Bless the Broken Road by Rascal Flatts**. It's the song I had on loop the entire time I was writing, what I imagined them to be dancing to, but it's country and not in a waltz arrangement; I couldn't find a waltz arrangement for it, so it's not included except at the very end... so yea, I highly suggest listening to it! It really sets the mood for the fic.

* * *

 **《** _ **Two Hearts Melding into One**_ **》**

 _Frame. Head, tilted back. Arms, lifted. Push, pull—pressure, feel and reciprocate._

Eyes carefully slid to just over the left shoulder, neck bared and loose hair brushing against the nape.

Right leg, extended out—heel angled just so against the floor, ready to push back into a flawless glide.

Left leg, weight balanced expertly, knee bent minisculely, just enough to keep posture straight but steady.

Back, arched. Chest, lifted. Fingers curled over a muscled bicep, nails trimmed to perfection and painted with a shimmer of gold.

Aquamarine, brilliant aquamarine eyes peered into the distance, smoldering with anticipation, black lashes accentuated by delicate winged liner and barely there eyeshadow—a gradient transitioning from the shade of freshly fallen snow to the gentle blue of the waves, flecks of gold decorating his lashes and waterline.

For a moment, time stood still.

A beat, then two more, softer.

His heart throbbed within his ribcage, but the arm wrapped around his waist, the hand cradling his scapula firmly, reminded him that he was not alone. Demurely, he allowed his head to tilt enough to examine the one he was trusting his body with, the one whose heart beat to the same tune as his.

Warm, chestnut eyes angled away, as proper, yet a moment later, those same eyes met his. A raised eyebrow drew a slight tilt from his lips, awkward yet not. A quick press, a barely there squeeze, reassured him that it was alright, that they were going to do well.

Hair normally left to flop wherever it cared to was now combed neatly to one side, sprayed down into compliance. Brown hair, highlighted blond from sun exposure, was now darkened from the use of product, though a few lighter strands escaped the crackdown to frame a thin, angular face.

He tilted his chin just a slight bit higher, using the motion to sweep his gaze back to where it was supposed to be. His fingers curled a bit deeper into the arm beneath his before releasing immediately. He was far too aware, far too self-conscious.

One breath, two—he glided back and turned around, allowing his body to center, his heart to steady.

Around him, swirling, loose fabric pooled around his feet, his heels—low, slim, just enough to settle him at a perfect three centimeters shorter than his partner—barely peeking out in all its silver-black glory.

His shoulders were bare, the sleeves gathering just above his elbows and then draping over his forearms in a swirl of silver-gold. The choker wrapped around his neck, resting low at the hollow, dug into his skin just enough for him to always be aware of its presence, glittering diamonds decorating the dark gold strip of satin. His chest felt slightly bare, a diamond-cutout leaving his skin exposed to the chilly air breezing around. A brief glance at one of the many mirrors decorating the walls showed him a vision in silver-accentuated gold, an ebony-haired spirit of the sun, sent forth to bring life back into the earth.

If he looked a bit farther behind, he could see his partner, dressed simply in a long-sleeved dark grey button-up, the sleeves semi-transparent while the upturned collar descended into a line of neat ruffled satin, the cuffs and edges trimmed with a shimmery heather grey satin. On top, his partner wore a black velvet-satin vest, the silver buttons on the front shining under the ballroom lighting. From his perspective, however, there was only the view of black fabric swooping down to leave the scapulas bared—except for the dress shirt beneath—wrapping only around his partner's waist and leaving even the lower back unconstrained. Paired with a simple pair of black slacks and black leather dance shoes, his handsome partner looked...even more riveting than usual.

It was a struggle to steady himself, to allow his body to curve in ways it naturally didn't. A cocked hip, a gaze burning with intrigue and invitation—yet coyly angled away—his legs spread, right extended and showing off the high slit now visible, his pale legs casting an ivory hue under the lighting.

Dangerous, scandalous compared to the traditional ballroom scene, but weren't they already breaking the rules already?

His throat tightened involuntarily, choking his voice down, but a tap resounded loud enough for him to hear, a heel striking firmly against the wooden floor, reminding him that he was not alone, that this was not the first time they performed and that it wouldn't be the last, that the months of rehabilitation his partner underwent, with him by the other's side every step of the way, was proof of their bond and desire to perform together.

This, their comeback—everything led toward this moment.

 _Sink, ronde._

He extended his right leg farther, allowing his knees to bend even as he placed all the weight off his heels and onto the balls of his feet. His skirt flourished out as he turned on the spot, all his weight now on his left leg, his right leg sweeping elegantly before pulling in, allowing his posture to straighten. He now faced his partner, his arms rising, right wrist flicking out.

Music pulsed around them—a beat, then two, repeat.

It roared in his ears despite being soft, lyrical notes. He glided forward, right palm meeting palm, fingers touching yet not interlocking. Eyes, meeting—aquamarine and chestnut.

 _Spin—fall, sink, balance weight—_

He spun on the spot, allowing his body to curve with the movement. Around his legs, his skirt fluttered, the fabric having just enough weight to keep it from rising above his shins.

An arm caught him at the waist, pulling him into a dip. He shifted his weight, compensating for the bent posture. Knees bended, stabilizing his fall—the dip. His back arched further back, eyes meeting once more, fiery, blazing.

His hair hung loosely, slowly falling out of the pins to feather around his neck—just as intended. Fingers clasped over his right hand, gently. Strength built up in the arm around his waist, and, with one motion, he was upright again, looking over his partner's right shoulder—the left to his perspective. Chest to chest, hearts beating as one.

They stilled, letting the music slow before leading into the melody.

 _Separate, fall back into frame._

Back to where they began, his body a marionette on strings.

 _Let the music fill you, let it sink into your bones and lift you higher._

Even though his partner remained silent, his voice still whispered into Zhou Zekai's ears, soft, gentle, encouraging. Like it always had been, ever since they were young, ever since Zhou Zekai had taken that first step into the dance studio and saw Su Muqiu dancing in front of the _barre_ and mirrors alongside his sister and best friend.

Back then, Excellent Era Dance Studio had been his shelter in the storm that had been his youth, a childhood of silence and ridicule, his shyness and quiet nature belittled instead of nurtured. Su Muqiu, he had taken one look at him, peering in from the doorway with his fluffy black hair and downcast blue eyes, and had taken Zhou Zekai under his wing. When Zhou Zekai had proclaimed, in a rare moment of vigor and determination, that he wanted to be Su Muqiu's partner in the dance circles, like Su Mucheng was Ye Xiu's, Su Muqiu hadn't laughed him off, saying that two men couldn't compete. Instead, Su Muqiu had simply smiled and said yes.

 _Why shouldn't they take the world by storm and change the way competitions are run?_

That had been the first time Zhou Zekai's heart had skipped a beat, the first time a brilliant red flush had tipped his ears, the first time a blinding smile crossed his face, toothy and radiating happiness.

 _Glide back, feel where he is leading you, feel his hand against your back, his body near flush against yours, his palm flat against yours, pushing, retreating, feel the pulse of the music you share with him, not the music floating around the room._ _ **He**_ _is your music._

One foot, then another, quick, slow, let him dictate the dance. Follow, relax, curve to frame the picture. This was a performance more than a dance. Zhou Zekai allowed his eyes to open, now that the song was underway. His feet moved automatically, falling into the waltz basics with ease. One, _two—_ three, four, _five—_ six, the irregular pacing as typical of a normal waltz, rather than the quick even beats of a Viennese or the tango-reminisce Argentine Vals.

 _Open left, open right, promenade-chassé._

His feet slid across the floor, always heel first on the first and fourth beat, toes on the rest, extending, retracting, using the floor to his advantage. Right foot, large glide back, left foot, distance farther, stabilize the body, right foot, cross, fall into contrabody position, continue, never stopping, never faltering.

A brief moment, a natural pause in the music, Zhou Zekai extended his leg farther, his body arching back, sinking, Su Muqiu holding him up and supporting him.

The tempo returned to normal, he was lifted up into the open right, his right leg naturally swirling into the proper foot placement through another _ronde,_ his head tilting back further to accentuate the movement.

Quick steps, ankles tapping against one another, shoulders and chest lifted, letting Su Muqiu pull him along into a _chassé_ and then a syncopated turn, arm extending upward, body rotating inward for an inside turn and then another catch, Su Muqiu's arm cradling his waist again.

 _Sink, back arched, frame—no, pose, toss in a develope._

Gracefully, he trailed his right leg up along his left leg, extending at the knee into a smooth kicking motion. His back arched further down, flashing even more skin with how high the slit was riding. Zhou Zekai sent a coy glance at the audience, the judge panel, from his precarious position and then whirled back into his partner's hold, a tight grip that lasted perhaps a second longer than it should before the two descended back into their mesmerizing dance.

 _Walkaround, pose, tease, own the stage._

Thankfully, Su Mucheng had buffed his face with foundation and powder beforehand, or the smirk on Su Muqiu's face upon leading him into a walkaround turn would have caused his cheeks to visibly redden. Even so, Su Muqiu's close proximity meant nothing was hidden from his partner.

Taking a slower breath than what he had been breathing in previously, Zhou Zekai stepped out of Su Muqiu's hold, his wrist kept taut to feel even the slightest lead. Elongated leg movements, cocked hips, perfected dramatics of hand and wrist flicking, caressing his hair and face, allowing his body to become overtly seductive, to bewitch his audience further into their spell.

 _J-hook, follow the pull._

Su Muqiu forcibly pivoted him, pulling him to face the brunet. Unknowingly, Zhou Zekai's eyes lit up, Su Muqiu's eyes softening in response. A glide forward, then another—

 _Turn, continue, walk away, remain tethered._

He was sent off again, an inside turn commanding him to return to the makeshift circular runway. It felt like it went on forever, _heel—toe—toe—drop, heel—toe—toe—drop, repeat_.

He was running out of ways to style, an arm wrapped around his waist, trailing down his thigh before flicking upward as if waving a handkerchief, letting his hand slowly descend to curl over the top of his head and then twirl loose strands of hair at his nape—

Another pivot, a forceful tug back into Su Muqiu's arms—

Zhou Zekai barely prevented himself from crashing into the other's arms, doing his best to make it seem as if he meant to take such large and then short glides forward, to use that to be pulled into a quick roundabout.

 _Syncopation, feel the beat, the lift, the quickness, the curve._

His feet passed by one another, letting Su Muqiu twirl him around on the spot without an end in sight before spiraling out into a move _he knew_ Su Muqiu ripped off of foxtrot. The syncopation felt slightly awkward, the beat _off_ in his mind even though he knew it was technically correct to the waltz beat.

 _This was not in the routine, Muqiu!_ Zhou Zekai forced back his grimace and simply followed whatever Su Muqiu led him into doing, eyes glaring fiercely when he was able to make eye-contact with his mischievous partner.

In response, Su Muqiu merely winked and then pulled him into turn after turn, letting his skirt flutter higher and higher until he was nearly flashing _everything_ before, suddenly, Su Muqiu was lifting him up into an _aerial he was in no way prepared for._

 _Balance, don't panic, let his arms hold you aloft, trust in him. Expression, natural, let it seem as if this meant to happen._

His legs stilled, the instinctive urge to flail them quenched. He spread his arms out, expression calm, smile as gentle and inviting as it had been this entire dance. The hands holding him aloft by the waist tightened a bit, to stabilize Su Muqiu's grip, but Zhou Zekai did not wince in the slightest.

Compared to the pain of possibly losing Su Muqiu that night a year ago, this was nothing. The pressure even reminded him that his partner was still here, was still with him, their heartbeats still intertwined as one.

 _Toes first, all the weight on there, continue the dance, the aerial is just a natural progression._

Turning the corner, the couple continued waltzing across the floor, dodging the other competing pairs with barely any difficulty. A heel turn during an open right into another chassé with a contrabody position, a side-to-side lead, before falling back into an open left, open right pattern...straight into an open fallaway?

 _Open right, face to face, palm to palm, walkaround turn, back together, repeat._

Facing Su Muqiu again, seeing his partner stare right into his eyes, Zhou Zekai could hear his heart accelerate and was extremely grateful that this figure required them to turn away from each other before facing again. He took that brief moment and used it as a respite, a breather, before facing Su Muqiu again.

It had been years, yet he...Su Muqiu still couldn't see the love within his eyes, and Zhou Zekai couldn't muster up the courage to confess, not yet.

The day he had been planning to, well, not _planning_ exactly but considering—that had been _that night_ , and all courage fled him after that, simply content to enjoy what he had.

But it never stopped him from wondering _what-if._

 _Exit, reconnect, back into his orbit._

His steps carried him across the dance floor, a whole conversation erupting between them with nary a word said. A tilt of the head one way as a hint toward the next movement, a harder press against his back or a slight squeeze of his hand, every little movement telling him dozens of things.

Not a single stutter, not a single stumble, it seemed as if they were floating instead of merely gliding, as if the floor was made of clouds and they immortals descending to grace the mortal world with a divine dance.

Unnoticeable under the lighting, if only due to Su Mucheng's excellent makeup skills, a light sheen of sweat coated their skins, the dance taking far more concentration and effort than they made it seem.

Zhou Zekai was thankful that this was not a true competition but simply a carefree one open to professionals and amateurs alike. He and Su Muqiu needed to get back in sync with each other on such a stage, and opening their comeback on a high-level competition stage would be a recipe for disaster. Su Muqiu had a tendency to reach too far, though it was not like he was one to speak. In his mind, Zhou Zekai admitted that the only reason why he pushed for this competition to be their first run together after a long time was because he was worried Su Muqiu hadn't recovered fully, that his rehabilitation hadn't gone as well as they believed it to.

Even as his mind drifted off, Zhou Zekai continued to dance, each figure he executed more dazzling than the last, causing the pair to drastically outshine the other competitors.

 _Whisk, ronde, fallaway, roundabout, heel turn, promenade…_

Figure after figure, as if they were running out of time; Su Muqiu tested the limits of their endurance, of their connection.

And Zhou Zekai?

He followed _beautifully,_ not missing a single lead.

 _Freeze._

The song ended, a litany of notes that rose with each passing beat into a resounding crescendo. For their pose, all the warning Zhou Zekai had was a little upward curve of pale, thin lips. Then, he was suddenly yanked up onto Su Muqiu's leg, which had been placed in-between his. Chests flushed together, his head cradled into Su Muqiu's neck—his _groin_ pressed firmly into Su Muqiu's thigh...his _arousal_ evident for the other to see. Zhou Zekai's cheeks was visibly pink now, the redness peeking out from beneath the layers of makeup. He gasped for breath, even as he froze in this...scandalous...position for the finale. Closing his eyes, exhausted, he simply let the end of the song quell the thoughts within him, each trailing note pulling with it another thought.

 _Clap. Clap. Clap._

Thunderous applause met the end of the dance, the end of the competition finale. The culmination of the week-long dance competition had been a waltz, with the preliminary being rumba, followed by elimination rounds of foxtrot, cha cha, swing, and then salsa.

It was finally over, yet when Zhou Zekai tried to separate from Su Muqiu, those arms held him in a vice grip, refusing to let go.

"Muqiu?" Zhou Zekai whispered softly into his partner's ears, as otherwise, they wouldn't be able to hear each other over the din of the audience.

No response.

Zhou Zekai repressed the frown that wanted to make itself known and resigned himself to staying in this bubble of awkwardness.

Only when they were actually requested to leave the floor did Su Muqiu allow Zhou Zekai to settle back on his feet, though Su Muqiu still did not let go of Zhou Zekai, leading the latter off by the elbow, as proper. The walk back to their assigned dressing room was silent, but the grip on his elbow was stronger than titanium. The heightened arousal of his, from the combination of adrenaline and close proximity to his love, had died down significantly since. Luckily, he had worn a dance belt, but Su Muqiu _still felt it because of that ending pose._

Zhou Zekai wanted to sink into the earth with mortification upon remembering what had just happened. Was Su Muqiu going to request to end their partnership now? Was this the final breaking point? Would he be rejected? Would—

"Ah Kai."

Zhou Zekai was summoned back to reality by this nickname. He blinked up at Su Muqiu in confusion, aquamarine eyes wide and perhaps a bit teary from his thoughts just now.

Su Muqiu seemed to be struggling with something, whatever words he had been meaning to say stuck in his throat. Zhou Zekai simply waited for whatever decision Su Muqiu would announce, but minutes passed, and they were left standing there, right outside their dressing room.

"Bzzt. Calling all dancers; please return to the stage for the award ceremony."

"After?" Zhou Zekai offered. Might as well have a last hurrah before everything ended.

Su Muqiu nodded, still mulling over something.

The rest happened in a blur. A trophy, another one to their collection—perhaps the last one to their collection.

This championship, theirs. But also, maybe the last of a streak—those dreams of international competitions rapidly wilting within Zhou Zekai's mind.

His thoughts ran wild, leaving him in a daze throughout the interviews and festivities afterward. Only when Su Muqiu pulled him back to their dressing room, after bidding goodbye to Su Mucheng and Ye Xiu—who had come to visit and support despite having their own competition less than a week later—did Zhou Zekai awaken from his stupor.

"Mu—" The words died on Zhou Zekai's tongue.

Su Muqiu pressed Zhou Zekai into the wall, one leg slipping in-between to prevent the other's escape. One hand captured Zhou Zekai's jaw, while the other braced against the wall, keeping Su Muqiu from putting all his weight on his follow.

Zhou Zekai watched his partner with wide eyes, taking in that bobbing adam's apple, the tongue flicking out, and the white tooth biting down on now slightly plump lips. A beat, then another—slowly, Su Muqiu leaned down, their faces just a smidge apart, their breaths intermingling. The palm against his face was warm, exceedingly warm. His face felt as if it was melting off; he felt as if he was suffocating, each breath bringing nothing along with it except anticipation. His heart felt as if it was about to beat right out of his chest, the rhythm rising into a crescendo like the music from before. He could feel Su Muqiu's pulse due to their close contact, could feel how fast the other's heart was beating, could feel how their hearts slowly fell into the same pattern, the same harmony. He stared into warm, hesitant chestnut eyes, and then—

Zhou Zekai leaned up, pressing his lips against Su Muqiu, accepting the offer.

 _Dance with me, forever._

 _Yes._

* * *

 _Every long lost dream led me to where you are_

 _And others who broke my heart they were like northern stars_

 _Pointing me on my way into your loving arms_

 _This much I know it's true_

 _That God blessed the broken road_

 _That led me straight to you_

 **【** **Bless the Broken Road** **】 —** **Rascal Flatts**

* * *

Crossposted on **AO3** under **MTKiseki**


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